Here's Looking at You, Kid
by Thaumaturgy
Summary: A solar flare sends John back in time, and only one person is capable of sending him back.  Unfortunately, he’s currently 16 years old, and as always, Rodney has a lot of issues to work out…
1. Chapter 1

**Here's Looking at You, Kid**

Summary: A solar flare sends John back in time, and only one person is capable of sending him back. Unfortunately, he's currently 16 years old, and as always, Rodney has a lot of issues to work out…

Disclaimer: I think I can reasonably say that absolutely nothing in this story is mine.

Takes place after _McKay and Mrs. Miller_.

A/N: This fic was inspired by an absolutely lovely SG-1 one I read…oh, years ago, on this site, where Jack goes back in time and meets an Air Force Academy-era Sam, and straightens her out a bit. If this sounds familiar— I apologize for not remembering the title and I'm not trying to copy your work…it was just such a nice idea that I wanted to try it out with some of my favorite characters. And if you can, send me the title—I would love to re-read it!

And continuing the author's note, because it doesn't seem to able to end…everything I know about wormhole physics was learned by watching either Sam or Rodney psychobabble. And I didn't understand much of that, either. This means that my science is sketchy at best, and is far more likely to be completely wrong in every way possible. Anyway, this is far more about the characters than the science, so please take it as such.

Enjoy!

* * *

"So, Rodney. Your sister was interesting."

"Oh, god. If you even try Kirking her—"

"You know, you're the one obsessed with sex all the time, not me. I was talking about her stories. You were really a nerd, weren't you?"

"Yes, colonel. I was a nerd. It's not like I tried to hide it…I did tell you about the chess team, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, they could all make nuclear bombs, I remember. But seriously, getting tripped up in the cafeteria? I didn't know they still did that anymore."

Rodney glared and sped up as he walked down the hallway. John, being in much better shape, matched his pace effortlessly. "Really, was your school mean or did you just reach new levels of geekdom?"

"Um, both. Look, it's not important, okay?"

"It's interesting!"

"Oh, yes, fascinating. Let's all mock the unfortunate, shall we? Football jerk."

"Hey!"

"Oh, you so were. The hair, the attitude, the jock-ness in general. If you didn't date a cheerleader I'll…I'll tell Zelenka he's right about something."

John paused, and then continued, looking vaguely guilty. "Yes, well. That doesn't automatically mean I was a jerk."

"Hm. Whatever."

Sheppard shook his head, looking indignant. "Really! Not all football players were terrible, Rodney."

McKay snorted. "Yeah, right. Although…" he trailed off, looking pensive. "Never mind. Point taken. I'm sure you were—tolerable. Maybe."

John blinked. "Wait, what? Why? I mean—you know what, I'm not even gonna try and keep up with your train of though. Go. Be confusing and obtuse, while I'm on Earth hitting on Colonel Carter."

"Bravo, you know what obtuse means. I didn't think you had it in you. And you do know that Colonel Carter can kick your ass, right?"

"Yeah, probably. I just want to rub it in your face that I get to talk to her and you don't. Stalker."

"You brought her up, not me, which would then make you the stalker. Which I'm not, anyway."

"Yeah, yeah. Keep trying, McKay. I know you own a pair of high-powered night-vision binoculars."

"Would those look like the ones you spy on Teyla with?"

"Hah hah. Geek."

"Jock."

And, arguing companionably, they made their way to the jumper bay.

* * *

Up on the balcony, Rodney checked over the dialing before being waved away by the technician, and went over to stand by Elizabeth. "How come he's the one that gets to fly the jumper back to Earth?"

"Because he's the only one we can rely on to not crash it into the wall at the SGC," she replied, amused. "We're trying to get into their good books by sending them things to play with, Rodney, not destroying their base. Besides, he's due for a vacation. So are you, actually."

"Fine, fine." They fell silent for a moment, and McKay yawned.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just tired. And hungry. Do you have any food?"

"No."

"Yeah, didn't think so. You need to eat more."

"And you need to sleep more, Rodney."

"So maybe we can both—" he cut off, looking horrified. "No. Oh, no. Oh, no, no…what day is it? I made Kusanagi take down her calendar and then we had the plumbing emergency and I totally forgot—what day?"

Elizabeth blinked, looking at him oddly. "Does it really matter?"

"Yes! Yes, it matters! Tell me!"

And now her look could be reliably pinpointed as worried. "It's the 28th, Rodney. September 28th."

"Oh, no. Shit—Sheppard!" he yelled out over the balcony, making everyone's head turn towards where he stood, leaning frantically over the railing…but John and the jumper were already through the 'Gate, and all that was left was the wormhole, glistening innocently under the light.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Wow, everybody, thank you so much! I'm getting so much positive feedback on this story, it's really fantastic, and I appreciate it a lot. So, thank you again!

And, also…I have an urban fantasy webcomic idea and script that I would really like to do something with. Unfortunately, I have less artistic talent than an aardvark on acid. So, if you're an artist and like my ideas, let me know!

And now, onward!

* * *

Even as John shook off the head-spinning disorientation that always accompanied trips through the 'Gate, he knew something was wrong. It just didn't feel right—and wow, how weird was it that he knew what felt normal about getting his molecules taken apart and rearranged, but that wasn't the point. The point was, he decided as he looked through the screen, that instead of being in the SGC, he was in a warehouse filled with trucks, with a tarp fluttering off to one side.

"Ookay…" he said slowly, lowering the jumper to the ground. "This is different…"

It was completely silent inside the warehouse, the silence of people not being there, of inoccupation. Shivering, he wheeled the jumper around to face the 'Gate—still there, but with the wormhole no longer open. He could see through to the other side—more army trucks, and more empty space.

Carefully, because this had just taken on the look of something hostile and alien, John parked the jumper and, after a moment's thought, cloaked it before he stepped outside, hand automatically going to the gun at his waist. It was light outside, enough to make him raise a hand to shield his eyes as he walked down the street. He didn't know what he was looking for, really—an explanation, probably. Something that would let him know what the hell was going on, and where the hell the SGC was. God, he wished McKay was here. He'd know. He always knew, eventually.

Three block away and two streets down, there was a convenience store with a newspaper rack, and John walked towards it with the stride of a man who had a mission. He knew he was drawing stares, with his gun and his uniform that was unfamiliarly military and his narrow eyes, but he didn't care.

The newspaper in front of the rack was called _The Washington Times_, and John Sheppard was, in fact, in a suburb of Washington D.C., but he wouldn't know that until after his gaze has gone, direct and more than a little apprehensive, to the little date on the front page.

August 17th, 1986.

Oh, shit.

* * *

"Okay," John said later, sitting on a park bench with his elbows on his knees and several people avoiding the crazy guy talking to himself. "The first wrong thing with this situation is that I'm a bunch of states and 21 years away from where I wanted to go. The second wrong thing is that I have no idea how to get back." And he couldn't see how that was going to change. Math, yeah, fine, he could do that, but this…the Stargate was years away from anything he could easily get. The only person he knew who understood it, who really, really got and could fix the thing in his sleep was… "McKay."

Where was Rodney, anyway? He was…37, right? John thought so, and then winced at the realization that he wasn't even totally sure how old his best friend was. So that would make him 16. God, he was in high school…John thought about how good a teenage Rodney would be at wormholes, and grimaced. But…who else was there? Colonel Carter was even younger, and…well, they were the two smartest people he knew. And Rodney—he had been talking about how smart he was in high school, right? Granted, he talked about how smart he was all the time, but…

John frowned and tried to remember everything Jeannie had said. Rodney had been born…Toronto, right? God knew what high school he had gone to, but his high school mascot had been a bear—no! "Forest Hill!" he said out loud, startling any people who had been almost about to think that maybe he wasn't totally nuts. Okay, then. He had a school, he had a place, and he had the jumper. He could do this. He could go find teenage Rodney and get him to help. And McKay…McKay could do it. McKay could always fix things. It was one of the tenants of the universe, that he knew what was going on and could make it better. It was how it worked.

"On we go to Canada," John muttered under his breath, and started to walk back to the jumper.

* * *

When he arrived outside Forest Hill high school half a day later, he was hungry, unwashed, and extremely irritated. Any and all warm, "he's always there to fix things" feelings he'd had for Rodney had completely evaporated under a layer of remembering every single time McKay had irritated him just for the hell of it, and, irrational though it was, the scientist living in Canada was now something specifically generated to bug him.

The front office was almost empty except for an older woman doing something on the computer, and John approached the desk with his best, charming, "Hey there" grin. "Hey. I'm a friend of the McKays, I know Rod—er—Meredith—does he go by Rodney now? He goes here, and I was wondering if you could tell me what class he has right now?"

The woman looked up at him suspiciously, but John had had a lot of practice through a year and a half of suspicious off-world people and his smile was pretty much perfect for exuding harmlessness. "Rodney should be in…English right now. It's room 129. Lunch starts in ten minutes, dear, you should be able to catch him then"

"Thanks," John said, smiling. He was almost there, he thought as he walked down the hallway. Almost to Rodney, who would fix everything. He would help, at least. He had to.

"Jesus, move out of the fucking door, don't you," said a loud, obnoxious voice, and the door banged open as student spilled out into the hallway. "God, you freak…"

John frowned—in the middle of the flow was another figure that—jarred with them, didn't fit in, and as he watched the figure—it was a boy, a brown-haired boy—was bounced off the lockers, wincing and glaring at the boys who had done it with sharp, brilliant blue eyes. "No way," John murmured, walking closer. The boy had the right brown hair, just more of it, and the skinny softness of a teenager who didn't exercise, and the same intelligence in the same blue eyes, but—angrier. God. It was Rodney.

The teenage version of his best friend was shoved into the lockers again by an elbow and John glared, striding up to the kid who did it.

"I think you want to move the hell along," he said, glaring, and the—jock—wow, John felt vaguely guilty—looked up at him and sneered. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"I think I'm the Air Force Colonel who has no problem kicking your ass," John said back, glaring, and after a moment the kid moved along, and John looked sheepishly at Rodney, who was…walking away. "Hey! Hey, dammit, Rodney, wait a second!"

The teenager didn't even look back, and John quickened his pace. Unfortunately, this Rodney was in a lot better shape that his time's, and he had to almost run to catch up to him. "I need to talk to you!"

"What the hell do you want?" Rodney snapped, whirling around and glaring. It was kind of unnerving to see the familiar eyes looking at him so venomously.

"Hey. I'm Colonel John Sheppard," he said, almost extending his hand and then deciding against it. "I…you're Rodney McKay, right?"

Rodney's eyes narrowed, but he nodded, standing indrawn and a little hunched—his own little island in the middle of the hallway. God. Academically, John had known how much McKay had hated high school, but he hadn't actually realized what that looked like. "Rodney…I need your help."

He snorted and turned around, starting to walk again before John grabbed his shoulder. "Listen to me, okay? I'm serious."

"Why the hell would you need my help?" Rodney bit out, every atom in his body flinching away from John's hand. "If you're really Air Force like you just threatened Thompson, one, you're American, and two, you can get whatever help you need. I'm not stupid. There's no way you would go to another country to get my help."

"I did, though. Look, you're the only person who can help me, okay? Trust me on this. And I know you're not stupid. I really, really know."

Rodney was still looking at him suspiciously, and John sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look. This…is gonna sound really, really stupid. And like I'm crazy. Okay? But I'm not. So just…don't run off for a second, okay?" There was no change in the teenager's expression, and John braced himself. "I'm from the future."

Rodney's face cleared into an expression that John was, at least, more familiar with, usually directed at really incompetent scientist, but wasn't the one he had been hoping for. "Yeah, right. You are crazy."

"I'm not! Look, I mean it. I'm from 21 years in the future. You're 37, you work with me—" Rodney was walking away, and John grabbed his shoulder again. "Listen to me. I can prove it."

And now, open skepticism. "How?"

John took a deep breath. "I have a spaceship."

Well, at least Rodney wasn't walking away now, but his face suggested that John had moved into new heights of insanity, and John had to stand in front of him to keep him from just leaving. "I mean it. It's in the parking lot. Admittedly it's a small spaceship, but…" John stopped. "Please just come out and let me prove it. Please. Please, Rodney."

Rodney looked hard at the strange, unkempt man with the messy hair. He looked and sounded completely crazy, but…he also talked to Rodney with familiarity. Like he knew him. Like he…liked him. "Fine."

"What, really?"

"Yes. Okay. You have five minutes."

John grinned. "Thanks, Rodney," he said, and led the way to the parking lot.

* * *

The parking lot was empty of people, and Rodney looked around with unconcealed skepticism. "No spaceship." And to himself, almost inaudibly, John heard him mutter "God, you stupid…"

Which made the timing perfect. "Hey, Rodney. Look over here a second." Rodney did so, almost automatically, and John grinned again as his jaw dropped to the ground at the sight of the puddlejumper.

"Oh my god."

"Yeah. Like I said, she's small."

"Bigger on the inside?"

"Huh? Uh, no. We don't really use them for long travel. Here, come inside so I can cloak her again." Rodney hesitated, but only for a moment—he was a believer. John followed him in, feeling more relieved than he could have imagined possible. The hard part was over.

"So…" Rodney perched uncomfortably in the co-pilot seat, looking around in awe. "You're from…the future?"

John relaxed in the pilot's chair, leaning back and feeling remarkably content. "Yeah, 21 years. You're a big-shot astrophysicist, McKay. And a couple years before we met, you got involved in a top-secret project called the Stargate program."

"Stargate? What's that?"

"It's…okay, I'm not exactly the best person to try to explain this, but it creates a stable wormhole in space that connects to other Stargates across the galaxy. So, space travel. There's a whole system—they were built by these aliens called the Ancients thousands of years ago. And the Air Force started traveling to other worlds. And then we—well, they—discovered the 'Gate address to go to Atlantis, which was the city that the Ancients lived in. You getting all this?"

Rodney nodded, looking intent. "Yeah. What happened? Er…happens?"

"Well, you went as the head scientist guy, and we discovered a bunch of stuff, including the puddlejumpers—this thing—and made a bunch of enemies. And then, yesterday, I was sent to bring this puddlejumper back through the 'Gate to the SGC for them to study. Except instead I came out here. Well, in D.C., but 21 years further back then where I was supposed to go."

The teenage version of his best friend frowned, and looked at him curiously. "So…what does this have to do with me? Why did you come here?"

John sighed and leaned forward. "I need to get home, Rodney. And I need you to help me do that. Frankly, you're the smartest guy I've ever met in my entire life. You've saved my ass more times than I can count. So I figure, if anyone can help me…it'll be you."

"But…how did the accident happen? How does this Stargate work? How do the puddlejumpers work? I don't know anything! Maybe your Rodney does, but I've never heard of this stuff before in my life!"

"I know. I do know." John leaned back. "Look, maybe this isn't fair of me to dump all this on you. But I do know—I think I know why I came back, so if I'm right, that narrows it down to only one impossible thing you have to do." Rodney opened his mouth to say something, and John cut him off. "Trust me, Rodney. I've seen you do impossible stuff in your sleep. I know you can do this."

Rodney frowned and spun around in the chair. "What is it you want me to do, then?"

"I need to know you to tell me when the next solar flare is gonna happen."

Rodney stopped spinning and glared. "That's impossible."

"I know."

"Do you know what impossible means? It can't be done. By anyone."

"I have faith in you, Rodney."

The teenager stood up abruptly. "I can't help you. I can't do it."

John stood up as well. "Rodney…" he was walking away, and John raised his voice. "Look at me, Rodney."

Reluctantly, he did so, and John looked him straight in the eye. "I believe you can do this. I need you to do this. Rodney, if you don't, I'm gonna be stuck here for the rest of my life."

Rodney was silent, and John pressed harder. "I meant it when I said you're the smartest person I know. Hell, you're the smartest person I've ever heard of. And I trust you. I really do. And…and we're friends. Hell, best friends."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. Even though you're a pain in the ass. Come on, Rodney. At least try."

Rodney was silent for a moment longer, and then sighed dramatically. "Fine. I'll try. I can't do it, but I'll try."

John grinned widely and clapped Rodney on the back. "Thanks. I owe you one."

"Um, you did hear me say that I can't do it?"

"Yeah, but you always say that," John shrugged. "And then you do it. So, thanks."

"Yeah, okay," Rodney grunted uncomfortably. And then a thought occurred to him, and he blinked. "Where are you staying?"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 finally arrives! I'm so, so sorry for the wait. Real life came barreling up behind and dealt a succession of blows that I'm not likely to forget or be rid of in the near future, so I've just been trying to cope. However, rest assured, I Will Finish This Fic.

On another note…26 reviews! dies I cannot believe it. To everyone reading and reviewing this…thank you all so, so much. You don't know how much it brightens my day to see someone saying they have enjoyed something I've written. So, thanks again.

* * *

"This isn't gonna work, you know." John paused a moment, considering. "Huh. Usually you're the pessimistic one."

"I wonder why," Rodney said dryly, unlocking the door. "I'm already sympathizing with my future self."

"Hey. No snarking." John kind of liked it, though, even though he knew far better than to ever say so—teenage Rodney's prickly distrust had loosened to the kind of sniping that the older version of himself engaged in on a daily basis, and it made John feel reassuringly close to home.

"So…you're sure about this? Me living in the garage?"

"Above the garage, technically. There's a kitchenette and everything."

John gave Rodney a skeptical look as they went up the stairs. "'Kitchenette'? Dude, no wonder you get picked on."

The teenager looked back at him, indignant. "Hey!" John shrugged in return.

"I'm just saying. No teenage boy should be using the word 'kitchenette' in everyday conversation. Just…no."

"Well, it's the proper noun for the situation."

"It may be the right word, it just…" John trailed off. "Never mind. You're hopeless."

"Coming from you, I'll take that as a compliment." Rodney unlocked a second door and pushed it open, revealing a small room that was dustier than John's old college apartment. "There's, um, the kitchenette—" he looked at John pointedly, who rolled his eyes—"And a bathroom over there, that door by the corner, and, um…"

"Looks great, Rodney," John said, cutting him off, for which Rodney looked vaguely thankful. Apparently, the younger version was no better than the older one at hospitality. "And your parents won't mind?"

The teenager snorted. "Please. They barely notice when I'm here, let alone if someone else is. I'll tell them you're the older brother of someone in the chess team at dinner, and they'll forget about it by tomorrow." He turned around, walked for the exit, paused in the doorframe. "I'll leave some stuff from dinner up by the door, okay?" John nodded and Rodney left, shutting the door firmly behind him as John looked around the dingy room and eventually flopping on a couch that looked slightly less infested with dust bunnies than the rest of the furniture.

It was weird. Well, this whole day had been weird—hell, the past day and a half had been weird, even by his pretty broad standards, and it didn't seem like things were going to get any better in the near future. But…it was weird. He didn't know anything about Rodney's family. Anything. He knew he had a sister, who was married with kids, and that by the time he met him Rodney's parents were dead (and there was something he didn't want Mini-Rodney to find out about). But when John tried to remember something, anything, about Rodney growing up as a child…there was nothing. Just a big blank. Except for little stuff, like the chess team and the kid genius thing, but…well, apparently Rodney didn't get along too great with his parents. More than was standard for most teenagers, anyway. And that wasn't something John had expected.

Barely noticing when Rodney was there…that was something, too. When he was in one of his moods, Rodney could be pretty damn hard to ignore. And not noticing or caring about a stranger in the room above their garage—granted, John was no expert, but to him that spoke of some serious dysfunction. And explained some things, too…well, not to John, really, except as vague psychological notions about attention-getting behavior and some of his friend's more noticeable dysfunctions. He bet Heightmeyer could have gotten weeks worth of shrink fodder out of it, though.

John grimaced and pulled himself off the couch, heading for the door to the bathroom. God, he needed a shower.

* * *

Rodney let himself into the house, breathing in the sterile air of a room that has been completely unoccupied for hours. Jeannie wouldn't be home until almost 7, his parents around the same time. Hopefully. He actually wanted them to have what passed for a family meal, so he could get the guy-crashing-in-the-guest-room thing out of the way. He had some time, though.

As he headed for his room, almost by reflex and partly on accident, one of his hands trailed across the keys of the piano, and he jerked his fingers away like the ivory had burned him. Shaking his head he entered his room, his sanctuary, eyes drifting over the sparse posters—Einstein, Newton, Galileo—but not really seeing them. What he was really looking for was in the drawers of his desk, and he pulled them out—a pad of paper and a pen, and thick, heavy books that ninety percent of the population never would have been able to understand. Rodney could, though, and he needed all the reference he could get if he was going to do something impossible.

Do something impossible. Rodney's hands stilled as he reached for the protractor on his desk and spread the books out. Do something impossible. He dreamed about it—admittedly, never about correctly predicting a solar flare, but other things. Things that would win him the Nobel Prize, catapult him to fame and fortune so that no one would ever doubt his genius again. And this man, Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard—said he could do it.

Rodney didn't know why he was trusting him. Really, he didn't. Yeah, the guy had a spaceship—but they probably had axe murderers in the future too. And technically, Rodney had practically been stalked—and no one could ever say that he was the type to trust easily. Only stupid people did that, and Rodney was far from stupid.

He sat down at his desk, assembling the books and paper neatly in preparation to begin. Maybe…maybe he was believing Sheppard because he wanted to. Because the future the man had painted—Rodney as a respected head scientist of a secret government expedition to another galaxy…Rodney with friends…he shook his head and sat down, picking up his pencil. The Colonel had certainly known what would appeal to him enough to override his basic good sense. And god, Rodney wanted it to be the truth. Wanted it enough that he was willing to ignore everything he knew was right.

He liked John Sheppard. He really did. And it was weird for that to happen, right off the bat…but the man talked like he knew him, spoke with an easy, practiced cadence that hinted at months, years of the same back-and-forth. True, he was also irritating as hell…but Rodney liked him, just the same. And he thought that the promise of that friendship was worth trying to do the impossible for.

Decided, Rodney bent his head and reached for the nearest of the books. He had work to do.

* * *

John woke up to bright sunlight coming through his closed eyelids. Ugh. At least he felt clean, though.

Wait, sunlight?

He sprang off the couch, then grimaced—he was getting too old for that. Great. A few more stumbling steps and a fumble for the doorknob—John was definitely not a morning person—brought him face to face with the world outside, and he blinked at the two plates and note that lay in front of the door. The paper was covered with Rodney's scrawl, still distinctive even at his young age, and John squinted at it as he balanced the plates and brought them into the dingy kitchen.

_Colonel,_ it began, and John blinked again at the unfamiliarity of seeing himself addressed by Rodney as something other than Sheppard or John. _I'm at school, my parents know about you and don't care. Here's __breakfast, and 50 bucks.__For god's sake, get yourself some other clothes. You look like a deranged soldier, which you probably are._ John grinned at that as he found the money, tucked underneath the breakfast plate. There was no signature with the note, and no ending…just that so Rodney-like little jab. John picked through the two plates of food, demolishing the breakfast and almost half of the cold dinner food—he was starving. And afterwards, he brushed his teeth, wet his hand and ran it through his hair, and headed out into the Canadian cold.

* * *

Rodney was even more distracted than usual throughout the day's classes. Usually he was at least aware enough to answer the teachers' questions correctly, but today he had to be jolted out his reverie at least twice, and he headed home as quickly as he could after school was over. There was far too much else in his life at the moment to deal with the ridiculous notions of required learning when he already knew everything he needed to for later life.

He headed straight up to the garage room when he got home, and found the Colonel lying over the couch reading a magazine and wearing normal clothes—thick jeans and a shirt under a collared jacket.

"Well, I see you've made yourself comfortable," Rodney snarked as he stood in the door, and John looked up and grinned.

"Hey, Rodney. How was school?"

"Very funny," the teenager grumbled, perching on the couch's arm. "Just because you graduated…"

"Sorry, it's just funny to picture you actually being taught by people. The Rodney I know would be the one in charge yelling at the poor students, not the other way around."

"Thanks a lot, Colonel."

"Any time," John replied pleasantly. "So…"

There was a brief, slightly uncomfortable silence, and Rodney just knew Sheppard wanted to ask about the progress, but was afraid to. "There hasn't been a lot of progress…I mean, it's—"

"Impossible, yeah."

"I'm not giving up!" Rodney snapped, more sharply than he had meant to—but wasn't that always the way? "It's just going to take a while. And I better get a Nobel Prize if I actually do it."

"When, Rodney. And I'm sure Stargate Command can think of something in reward."

"Classified, right. What's the point of making incredible breakthroughs if you don't get the acclaim for them?"

John snorted, whacking Rodney's arm lightly with the magazine before the teen grabbed it. "What're you reading?"

"Just the local news," Sheppard shrugged, snatching it back. "Thought I'd remind myself what actually happened this year."

"Not a lot, really…um, Elizabeth II is queen…"

"I'm not that far in the future, Rodney."

"Fine, sorry. Uh, the Montreal Canadiens won the Stanley Cup, there were dinosaur fossils found in Nova Scotia…"  
"Anything that's not geeky, Captain Oblivious?"

"Well, forgive me for not knowing what's going to be remembered twenty years from now!" Rodney snapped, and to his surprise John looked vaguely sheepish.

"Sorry. Um…hey, I'm getting cooped up in here. Anything we could go do? Movies, anything?"

"Yeah, sure," Rodney said, shrugging. He never had a problem being inside most of the day…but then again, he was pretty obviously the geeky scientist and John was the jock in the friendship he and the Colonel apparently had someday, so it was no surprise that the man was going a little stir-crazy. "Um, there's this new movie called "The Fly" out, another "Aliens" movie…"

"Which one?" John asked absently. "I think there are like eight by my time…"

"Really? Um, the second one."

"Nah, seen it. What was the other?"

"It's called "The Fly". I think it has…Geena Davis?"

"I think I remember seeing that at some point," John mused thoughtfully. "I don't really remember a lot about it…liked it, though. You interested?"

"Sure," Rodney shrugged. "I'm pretty busy today, and tomorrow, really, but maybe Friday night? You can probably entertain yourself until then."

"Fine," John sighed, then straightened up and grinned. "I owe you one, Rodney. Seriously, when I get back, just say the word, okay?"

"I'll remember that, you know," Rodney said as he stood up and headed to the door, and the Colonel smiled.

"I'm counting on it."

* * *

Thursday and Friday passed, for John, with unbelievable monotony. He ran laps around the neighborhood every morning and afternoon and plundered Rodney's bookshelves, but all the kid had that was even vaguely understandable was a neatly bound set of the classics, and they didn't look like they had ever been touched. At least it was something to do—but John could really only stomach a half hour or so of the convoluted writing at a time, which kind of limited his options. By Friday afternoon, he felt about ready to tear his hair out.

Rodney, on the other hand, felt far busier than he liked. He was staying up until midnight or later every night now, using every minute he could to work on the problem and trying to voice the thought that was more and more active—_this is impossible_. No matter what Sheppard thought, there were some things that just couldn't be done, and true to form Rodney told him so.

"Unless you have solar observational equipment hidden in your spaceship somewhere, you're stuck," Rodney said bluntly, sitting on the couch in the spare room Friday afternoon. Sheppard was leaning against the wall by the door, looking worried, and as Rodney watched he started to pace.

"Look, Rodney, I know it's hard but—" the colonel started, and Rodney fought the urge to bang his head against a wall.

"This isn't a problem with my motivation, or my limits, or anything like that, Colonel," Rodney snapped, standing up abruptly. "It. Is. Impossible. It cannot be done, and there is nothing I can do about it. I don't know what else you want from me."

John rounded on him, mouth opened and ready to yell some more, and then suddenly deflated and rubbed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Rodney. I just…I have faith in you." The teenager started to speak, and John cut him off. "Hear me out, this isn't a pep talk. I'm trying to explain, here. I…look, I've spent the past three years of my life, give or take, with the absolute belief that you can honestly fix everything, okay? In all that time, you have never not done it. Ever. And, maybe this is impossible, and I probably am pushing too hard, and I know it's not fair to you. But that's why. Because…hell, as far as I'm concerned you're Superman, Rodney."

The boy sighed and sat back down, rubbing his eyes. "I failed, I'm sorry. I can't do it."

"That's not—dammit, you're impossible," John muttered, and walked over to sit beside Rodney on the couch. "You just spent the past three days working yourself to death over a guy you don't even know. That's…god, that's incredible, Rodney. You have nothing to apologize for. I mean, I'm the one who should be apologizing for putting all this pressure on you, okay? If it can't be done, it can't be done. I trust you on that. And…" the colonel trailed off, looking at the wall. "You're a really cool kid, Rodney. Way cooler than I was a your age. Not cooler than me now, obviously, but…just, thanks, okay? You gave it your all, no one can argue with that, and—I'm really grateful."

They sat in silence that was incredibly awkward for a moment, before John sighed in relief, presumably that the touchy-feely stuff was now over. "So, still up for that movie?"

* * *

Next Time: the movie triggers some unexpected trauma for John. You don't know how happy I was that The Fly actually came out a few days before I had already decided to set this… 


	4. Chapter 4

Wait, it's been how long since I last updated? hides

But, another chapter emerges! A short one, unfortunately…I was planning to make the cut-off about a page and a half later, but Mr. McKay is driving me utterly bonkers and refusing to cooperate, which is severely curtailing my writing attempts. I'll try to get the next chapter out in a more timely fashion, but I figured it was better to post something a bit shorter than usual than wait even longer.

Also, a really huge thank-you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story. It's just phenomenal how much support I have received, and I really, really appreciate it.

And, on we go!

* * *

The walk to the theater was freezing, and John hunched his shoulders and burrowed his hands in his pockets. Just because he'd spent months in Antarctica didn't mean he enjoyed not being able to feel his toes. Rodney, on the other hand, seemed remarkably unaffected—frankly, it was slightly unnerving to see him so unconcerned about discomfort.

It was warm inside the theater, at least, and John enjoyed the heat as his teenage companion paid for the tickets and they chose seats in the theater—Rodney, geek that he was, wanted to be close enough to practically touch the screen, and John was old enough to worry about getting a crick in his neck. The middle was eventually decided on after a brief bout of rock-paper-scissors (John had the advantage there—it wasn't the first time he had resorted to that particular technique with the scientist), and they settled in to watch the movie.

The first chunk of film was spent in relative peace, with John feeling superior at the way Rodney was impressed by the special effects and trying to steal the boy's popcorn, and the boy slapping his hand away every time. Apparently military expertise wasn't very effective against teenage reflexes in defense of food, especially when it was Rodney protecting his salt and butter. And then the main character's DNA was mixed with that of a fly, the genetic change gave him new strength and agility, and John started to think that maybe they would have been better off with the new "Alien" movie after all.

It wasn't so bad, at first. Just little bits and pieces that made John squirm uncomfortably—remembering running faster than Ronon, sparring better than Teyla, as on the screen the mutant did pull-ups on the ceiling. The back-of-his-mind wrongness that had accompanied both events, the knowledge that this shouldn't be possible, that he hadn't listened to until it was too late. And then the movie really picked up, showing the grotesque physical changes, the deterioration, the warping of the scientist's personality, and all John could see was his own skin turning hard and blue and alien, his mutilated claw of a hand, the way he had grabbed Elizabeth by the throat and wanted, needed, to see her choking and helpless in his anger…

John stumbled out of the theater almost blindly and leaned over in the freezing air outside, trying to catch his breath. Moments later Rodney followed, leaned over him, uncertain. "Colonel? John?"

"I'm fine, Rodney. Just…give me a second…" Slit pupils and yellow eyes in the mirror, the crust of exoskeleton creeping over his body. The horrible detached feeling he had had, when he pressed on his changing skin and the touch barely registered. The feeling of being trapped in a shell as he watched himself lose control, of being separate and lost. The way needles had started breaking off when they tried to pierce the shell that covered him. The animal, mindless thoughts, the utter loss of control…

"John!"

This time the teenager put his hand on John's shoulder and shook him, hard, and the fact that John could feel Rodney's hand burning through his coat helped to shake him out of his trance. "Sorry. I—sorry."

"What the hell happened?" Rodney snapped, looking wide-eyed and frightened, and John felt a stab of guilt. The kid…he was just a kid. He shouldn't have to go through things like this, watch someone fall apart because a stupid movie had given him flashbacks to being turned into a bug.

"A…a year or so ago, I was on this planet and I got bit—" John stopped for a moment, considering how to explain himself without changing the future more than he already, irrevocably had. "Long story short, I kinda…turned into a bug."

"Are you kidding?" Rodney asked, worry falling away before disbelief, and John nodded.

"It was not the most fun experience of my life. The movie…sorry about that. It just kinda hit close to home."

"Turned in a bug. Jesus."

"Well, not entirely! It turned out okay, anyway." John spread his arms wide, gave Rodney a cheerful smile. "Insect free and proud."

The look the teenager gave him in return was uncomfortably sober. John had always been able to read Rodney clearly, and the scientist had always returned the favor. He wasn't fooled.

"Look, Rodney. It's fine. Go back inside and finish the movie."

"What, after that?" Rodney snorted, and shook his head. "I'm not leaving you out here with your post-traumatic stress disorder."

"Always nice to know you care," John said dryly, feeling a little uncomfortable. There was always something not-quite-right about being comforted by Rodney at any time, and the fact that this Rodney was just a gangly slip of a teenager made it worse. Said teenager just shook his head, and was unnervingly silent all the way back to his house.

* * *

Later that night, Rodney sat at his desk and dropped his head in his hands. A bug. The Colonel had turned in a bug. If he wasn't lying, anyway…but, no. It was too late for him to think that, wasn't it? He had already accepted the whole story, against his better judgment, against everything. He had to believe it. But the whole thing was just so…surreal. Aliens and bugs and…alien bugs…and spaceships and time travel. And an impossible problem. But Rodney didn't want to give up, that was the thing. He had told the Colonel he couldn't do it, and the man had accepted it with fairly good grace, but the papers covered with his notes still covered the desk, and his hands itched for a pencil, and the calculations niggled there, in the back of his head. Maybe it was just because he felt needed by John, in some strange way. The older man apparently had an incredible life that he needed to get back to, and he believed, devoutly, that Rodney was the only one who could help him do that. If nothing else, it was flattering for someone to have that kind of confidence in him. But what really got to Rodney, what made him grit his teeth and stare at equations with something like fury, was that, at the theater…the Colonel had been terrified. Hell, he had been keeled over on the ground, eyes wide and unseeing at a kind of memory that Rodney couldn't even begin to imagine, because of a moderately well done horror movie. A person who had gone through the kind of trauma that would cause that, who spoke about it in terms that suggested it wasn't uncommon, and then who, when separated from that life, fought like crazy to get back to it…Rodney couldn't even imagine that kind of devotion.

"You're up late," came an amused male voice from the door, and Rodney spun in his chair to see John smirking and propping up the lintel.

"What are you doing here?"

"Bored," the Colonel said, shrugging, and it only took a second for Rodney to get it—he didn't want to fall asleep right now, be alone, when the horrors were still lurking in the back of his head. With that in mind Rodney gestured to the bed, and John flopped down onto it with poorly masked relief.

"So, what're you doing?" John asked, and Rodney gave him a look.

"Working on getting your sorry ass back where you came from so you can stop freeloading," Rodney said, rolling his eyes and pretending not to notice the way the Colonel stiffened noticeably on the bed.

"Thought you gave up on that," the older man said, sounding carefully nonchalant, and Rodney thought about his answer carefully before he responded. Tried to, anyway.

"This isn't entirely for you," he answered finally. "It's more like…I trust you, about what you say happens in the future. God knows why. So that means that, somewhere…I'm out there, an older me, probably having no idea what happened to you, and…we're friends. Apparently. I mean, that's what you said, although I don't know what head trauma I go through to make me willingly hang out with you, but…I'm probably worrying. Maybe. And…" He paused, trying to say what he needed to without screwing it up. He did that so much, all the time, but if he did it now…"I just have this image of the future me, waiting for you to come back and knowing that if you don't, it's because I screwed up. And I really don't want that to happen, okay?"

"So…you're doing this for purely selfish reasons?" John asked, sounding amused and thoughtful at the same time, and Rodney nodded.

"Now, shut up and let me work," he said, turning back to the desk and his figures. He was going to do this. He had to.


End file.
